


a little less light

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: Stucky Pirate AU That You Didn't Know You Wanted [1]
Category: Black Sails, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (on a pirate-run island), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Avast me hearties!, Bottom Steve Rogers, Doing Sketchy Stuff for The Greater Good, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Established Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, Implied Mpreg, Implied Relationships, Loneliness, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Marooned, Married Couple, Post Mpreg, Separations, Skinny Steve, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Bucky Barnes, and a good Rogering, somebody stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sometimes, he cursed the Heavens for his lot, on days when he pretended to believe there was a Creator and a Host watching over him; others, the fault was laid solely at his husband’s door.</i><br/>-</p><p>Steve lives a lonely life on the island he is forced to live on, in order to protect his son. He adores and despises Bucky in equal measure, for the depth of his love, which made him place Steve here. And each new day, he endures the agony of not knowing if the next ship that arrives will bring news of Bucky's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little less light

Steve pushed his lemon tree cutting into the freshly turned sod, carefully tucking down the stem with his own spindly fingers. Its parent plant came in a crate roughly three months ago, and had flourished in the heated soil, and he had high hopes for its offspring. The plant was a gift from his husband, after Steve had written of his desire to bake sweet lemoncakes for their son, who knew too few indulgences. Steve carried not the entire blame for this, but much of his ire, when not directed at his oft-absent husband, fell squarely on his own shoulders. He does what little he can to assuage his guilt.

Were they not loyalists, branded pirate for their obedience to the usurped King, Steve’s child would not be forced into such a desolate upbringing, on this tiny arid island of debauchery. Lord alone knows what kind of man little Joseph will become, with braggarts and thieves his only example of free men.

Truthfully, it was difficult to imagine the sweet child in question as anything but guileless, when he came racing into the garden, straight into Steve’s unguarded side. They both careered hazardously off-balance, since Steve, not anticipating the blow, did not brace for it. But slender though he was, Steve was not so weak as to be bowled over by a boy of five summers, and quickly had them righted.

“Oh, my dearest heart!” he cried, dramatically placing a hand over the drumming organ fore-mentioned, “You gave me such a fright, I am quite certain my soul left my bones for the barest moment.”

Joseph found this exceedingly amusing, and showed it by giggling freely and throwing his arms about his mother’s neck. “Can we play now, Mama? I want to find coconuts!”

Steve fixed his son with his best imitation of a stern look, wrapping his arms around Joseph’s small frame. Where Joseph was concerned, only a false approximation of austerity could ever settle on Steve’s features. The love he carried for his only child, and the constant dread for his safety, would not allow for any true anger to grow within him.

“Have you finished all your letters?” he asked, to which Joseph nodded seriously. His pale blue eyes, inherited from his father, were wide in supposed honesty.

Scuffed feet announced the presence of the tutor his son had lately escaped from, and Steve looked up to confirm that Joseph had been confined to the school room for long enough. Young Peter offered him a sheepish smile, twisting his hat in his hands.

“I’m sorry ma’am. He completed most of his letters; only D and G are still giving him trouble. His arithmetic has come on in bounds.”

“I’m glad,” replied Steve, offering the nervous youth what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I am obliged to you, Mr Parker. Will the same time on Wesnesday suit?”

“It would suit exceedingly, ma’am! Thank you,” Peter stuttered, still nervous of the reclusive but indomitable carrier, who inhabited one of the only secluded properties on the island. Peter scuttled away after a brief but heartfelt goodbye with Joseph, who delighted in his teacher's presence, but did not relish the education which came with it.

Mr Parker and his elderly aunt were their closest neighbours, and not the troublemaking sort (despite their chosen homestead). As such, the young clerk had been Steve’s first and only real choice of tutor for Joseph. The isle had no school, there being few men of any gentility or name, with sons alive and young enough to teach. Steve would not have permitted his son to be removed from his sight for schooling, in any case.

Steve himself was considered an unknown element by the real marauders who inhabited the town. By those who knew him only as a member of the dread ship _Echidna_ , named for the fearsome half-woman half-serpent mother of monsters in legend, Steve was just another fiend to be wary of. Inadvertently, in his need for privacy and solitude, Steve had become somewhat of a local feature. The 'hermit on the hill', who may be a madman or a witch, depending on who you asked. His well-tended and exotic garden certainly seemed to lend credence to the latter, according to Sam, his trusted servant (and in truth, his only friend on the island).

Some mistook Steve for a whore; alone as he was on his rocky outcrop, with a barely weaned son and no visible husband. But those unfortunates were quickly righted of that notion by way of Steve’s right hook. He might only be slight, but Bucky had spent many hours of their youth training with him, teaching him how to use another’s weight against them.

There were occasions when money was scarce; but Steve would sell his soul to the Devil before he tainted his body by selling his flesh. The thought alone brought bile to his throat as he recalled the dead-eyed looks of the town street girls, their matted hair and missing teeth somehow still appealing to the men who used them on a daily basis. The ones who operated from indoors were scarcely better, in terms of lifeless gazes, even though their skin, teeth and fingernails were smooth and unsullied.

Sometimes, he cursed the Heavens for his lot, on days when he pretended to believe there was a Creator and a Host watching over him; others, the fault was laid solely at his husband’s door. They were marooned on this honour-forsaken rock per Captain Bucky Barnes’ orders, and Steve did not doubt that it would be by Bucky’s will alone that he would ever leave it.

This far into the untended territories, long abandoned by colonial forces, Steve and the other islanders could be fairly certain that they would never be subject to the British Navy alighting on their shores. Nor indeed any other Navy. The sailors endorsed by monarchs were all too busy fighting one another to care to conquer a little rock populated by drunkards, with fruit alone as its natural produce. He tried not to be bitter about the respectable life he had left behind when he was branded as a traitor, for refusing to accept the usurper as King. When the Navy had split in two and Steve had found himself on the losing side.

Spirited as he was, after being abandoned here, Steve had initially attempted to procure a small rowing boat. When that failed, he tried to buy passage on a merchant ship. But all enquiries were rebuffed. It did not take him long to understand that his husband’s spies lurked everywhere, an affront he did not treat lightly. When Bucky next returned he felt the sting of Steve's tongue, his fury a righteous, burning _thing_ stoked at being treated as no more than a common prisoner.

They always fought when they were together; fighting and fucking were the two things they did best of all. Steve knew, deep in his heart, that his exile here had been the result of the truest of intentions, born of love and desperation. No babe can easily survive at sea, least of the babe of pirates, constantly caught in conflict and gunfire. The risks were too high, and though Steve had fought with his words, tears and fists, he had been deposited here nonetheless, and here he would remain.

Confined though he might have been, he was not completely ill-contented. Joseph was the ray of sunshine in his clouded, lonely days. The light of Steve’s existence, and the reminder of all the love he truly held for his disparaged husband. As such, it was a pain to deny the little boy anything.

This day was no exception. Steve gathered his skirts, to ease his movements, and took his son’s hand. He was content to listen to the boy’s prattle about coconuts and parrots, both of which could be found on the tiny cove below their home. As they made their way toward the cliff path which would lead them there, Steve felt a resigned calm settle upon him. He offered appropriate interest to Joseph’s enthusiasm, even when it turned to ideas of where Papa was, what he was doing and what gifts he would bring when he returned. Steve bore it all with a sad smile.

But in his mind, Steve allowed himself a moment to pretend, that he could be simply happy here. That he would not spend their time together on the beach, this beautifully clear afternoon, staring wistfully at the distant horizon. That he would not be continually wondering if any of the tiny ships bobbing there were the one which was carrying his love home; or else bringing the awful news that Steve was made widow for the second time in his life. A life composed of too few hours for all the hardships Steve had endured. It was a sorrow that would not be shaken, and it laced every pleasant moment with his son with a bittersweet aftertaste.

**Author's Note:**

> I need more dreams  
> And less life  
> I need that dark  
> In a little more light  
> I cried tears you'll never see  
> So fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean  
> And leave me be  
> (Save Rock and Roll, by Fall Out Boy)


End file.
